by Carol Hutton
As the years went by, Anna learned more of the tragedy from which the once vibrant, beautiful, young mother never recovered. Colleen Dougherty’s crowning glory, her shiny black hair, had turned white that night she lost her eldest children, her first set of twins, to the rippling creek in the woods.
A lone tear trickled down Anna’s left cheek as she turned by the sign with the arrow and little plane on it. Anna looked over at her reflection in the rearview mirror, checking to see if her hair might have gone white.
It was five minutes after two. Anna parked the Explorer, locked the keys inside for Patrick to pick up later, and hurried into the building to board the plane.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Carroll. It’s good to see you. I hope you had a nice weekend. Looks like it’s just the two of us again.”
Anna forced a tepid smile at the cheery young flight attendant and took her seat. The sun was high in the sky, shining so brightly it gave Anna an excuse to hide her eyes under dark sunglasses during the flight. While she was gazing at the peaceful clouds, Anna accepted a glass of water brought by the attendant.
The flight was smooth and the skies were beautiful. Anna took sips of her water as she admired the heavens. It wasn’t until the pilot announced that they were approaching La Guardia and the young woman came over to collect the glass that her earlier remark actually hit home.
“Excuse me,” said Anna, “but I was quite tired on Friday and was not paying attention on our trip out to the island. What did you mean when you said a little while ago, ‘Just the two of us again’?”
The young woman smiled. “Don’t you remember, Dr. Carroll? You were the only passenger on the plane. I made some comment about it, and thought maybe I had offended you in some way. You never even looked up during the trip, even when I refilled your glass. You seemed lost in the clouds, or deep in thought, the entire way, so I just kept to myself, though I really wanted to talk to you. That’s why I was so happy to see you this afternoon. I was hoping maybe I could talk to you today, but I can see that you still have a lot on your mind.”
No other passengers? Anna fumbled with her sunglasses. She needed distraction. If she fully grasped the words she was hearing, she would start to panic. She was already more unsettled and off balance about her dream of Beth, let alone the revelation on Gay Head, than she cared to admit, even to herself. Now this.
Anna somehow answered. “Yes, you’re right, I have a lot going on right now. I did have quite a weekend, thank you. But we have a few minutes before we land, so tell me, what would you like to talk about?”
As the young woman began to speak, Anna breathed deeply, convincing herself that the imagined companionship on the plane on Friday was not significant. That tap on her shoulder had been the flight attendant gently waking her from her reverie. And outside, well, she must have been so anxious and preoccupied that she had wished for the offer of assistance and confused it with the real thing. No big deal, Anna reassured herself as she tried to focus on the young woman. The rest of the weekend was real; she had the bruises on her arm to prove it.
“… and so, Dr. Carroll, that’s why your book helped me so much. After our flight together on Friday, I went to the bookstore and bought your latest one. I bought two copies, actually—one for me, one for my mom. Could you please autograph them for me?”
Anna’s logical internal dialogue had had the desired effect. She felt cool and calm. With her most professional author’s aplomb, she took one of the books from the young woman’s hands and asked, “How should I inscribe this one?”
“Well, my mother’s name is Leah. Why don’t you write in her book first?” Anna wrote and signed the inscription.
As the plane continued its descent toward La Guardia, the bright light of the sun began to fill the cabin. At first, Anna was almost blinded by the light as it reflected off the shiny window casings across the aisle. Slowly, however, the brightness faded and a soft white light radiated throughout the cabin. Anna felt a warmth and presence all around her, which relieved all remaining remnants of anxiety and confusion. It was only for a split second, but Anna could have sworn she saw Beth, sitting in the row across from her, smiling in her direction as she faded away.
Quite calm by now, her mind at ease and her heart filled with a newfound understanding, Anna looked up at the young woman as she took the second book from her hands and said, “Don’t tell me. Your name is Beth, isn’t it?”
The beautiful young woman with sparkling blue eyes said, “How did you know that, Dr. Carroll?”
Anna was smiling now as she looked between the clouds and replied, “Well, I guess you might call it a hunch, but in reality, an angel whispered it in my ear.”
Anna winked and passed her the books, thinking about the true meaning of the words she had spoken.
The little plane landed smoothly and Dr. Anna Carroll was once again back on the ground.
MONDAY
_____________________
It had been after midnight when Anna walked into her house. She was exhausted beyond belief, too tired to brush her teeth or even remove her clothes. She just flopped on her bed and fell immediately and deeply asleep. The persistent ringing of her phone woke her and, as she reached clumsily for the receiver, she saw that it was nine-fifteen in the morning. It was her secretary on her private line.
“Anna, is that you? When I didn’t hear from you last night or early this morning, I thought I’d better check to see whether you made it back to paradise.”
Anna had the best secretary in the world. The women were about the same age, but so different; in this case complementing each other so well that it made for a great working relationship. It had been a perfect match for close to five years. Ellie loved that Anna needed and appreciated her organizational skills and her affinity for arranging schedules and details and dealing with the practical and the routine. As a result, the office ran with incredible ease, despite Anna’s constantly changing priorities, her messy desk, calendar and Rolodex, and the demands of her many and varied clients.
“Yes, I made it back, in body anyway, Ellie. Though my spirit is still on the Vineyard.” Surprised at herself, Anna asked, “I’m not seeing clients today, am I?”
“No. Remember, Anna, we decided to give you the morning to rest, but you do need to be in here by two o’clock for a conference.”
“I’ll be there. I’m exhausted. It’s a long trip to make for such a short time. I overestimated what I could do, as usual,” she said as much to herself as to her secretary.
“Well, you know, I kind of anticipated as much, so I hope you won’t be too upset that I canceled the rest of the week for you. I did run the idea by Chris, and he said he’d call you about it, but I guess he forgot.”
The blinking light on the answering machine, Anna thought. “No, no, Ellie, it’s great you cleared my week. You are too much—are you getting psychic on me?”
“Me? No way, Anna! I just had a feeling you would need more than a weekend. I thought maybe you’d want to go up to Vero for a few days.”
Suspecting a little collusion now, Anna thought back to Saturday’s conversation with Chris about the book and smiled.
“I may just do that,” Anna said. “I’ll see you in an hour or so. We can go over a few things before my meeting this afternoon, and then I’ll head on up the coast.”
That afternoon Anna drove north on I-95 on a relatively cool evening for November in Florida. She turned on the CD player, opened the sunroof, and felt the wind breeze through her hair over the uplifting sound of Gloria Estefan. As she pulled off the highway and headed east toward the river, Anna realized this would be her first time in her river house since Beth died.
As always, Anna smiled as she entered the house. She opened all the shutters and blinds, threw open the big sliding doors facing the river, and let the wind off the water blow all the remnants of death and sadness out of the house—and out of her soul.
Later, Anna strolled out to the end of her dock. Sitting on the be
nch, watching the mullet jump into the gentle waves, she tried to sort through her weekend. As she searched the river for answers, she saw a lone dolphin swimming against the tide. Mesmerized by the rhythm of his graceful stride, Anna thought it strange he was alone. Dolphins usually swim in pods, a group of family and friends who play and protect each other as they navigate the unpredictable seas. This one, this loner, was headed off on his own. As he reached the bridge, Anna could barely see his fading dorsal fin among the rippling waves of the river. Slowly and gracefully, he naturally became one with the water as he continued on his journey beyond the bridge.
The ringing of the phone broke the spell. She walked quickly to the house, somewhat perplexed that she could even hear it, since the dock was a good 175 feet long. Very few people knew the number for the Vero property, and she had no machine. Anna made it back to the house by about the eighth ring and heard Becky’s voice on the other end.
“Annie, it’s Becky. I wanted to make sure you got home all right, and that your weekend was all that you needed and wanted it to be.”
There was a softness and depth to Becky’s voice that Anna had never heard before, and it touched her in a very special way.
“I was going to call and thank you and Michael. Becky, my weekend was just indescribable. I was just out on the dock, trying to put the pieces of my life together.”
They talked, on a new, deeper level. While Anna couldn’t actually tell her what had happened over the weekend, she was somehow able to communicate the power of it all. As the conversation closed, Becky mentioned the Duffy house. That reminded Anna to ask how she could reach John, but before she could, Becky said, “It’s just so sad, Annie, it was just such a tragic weekend here. My heart goes out to all the family.” Becky’s voice broke as she continued. “John was loved by so many people, Annie. He was a truly remarkable priest.”
What? What was going on? Anna’s chest started to constrict, getting tighter with her deepening anxiety. She sank down on the big chair in her living room, grasping the phone with a now sweaty hand.
“Becky, what are you talking about?” Anna’s voice was barely audible.
“Didn’t you get the message we left for you over the weekend, Annie? I was too upset to call, so I asked Michael to. Saturday night he phoned to tell you there would be no activity at the Duffys’ after all. We didn’t want you confused up there all by yourself. It was Mary’s cousin John, Father John Duffy—you may remember him from Beth’s funeral.” Becky was really crying now, but she continued to choke the words out.
“John was on his way to the Vineyard for the weekend, too, like I told you. In fact, the accident happened about the time you were scheduled to arrive at the airport. He was hit by a drunk driver on the Connecticut Turnpike. By the time the paramedics arrived, it looked bad, but they got him to the hospital. Michael and every other available specialist stayed by his side all weekend. John’s condition stabilized on Friday, and there were actually a few hours on Saturday when even the physicians thought he’d make it. But our hopes weren’t enough. By sunset on Saturday they put him on life support. That gave enough time for all his brothers to come to his side.”
Anna was weeping softly now, her hand covering the receiver. She felt she knew where this story was going and how it would end. Unaware of Anna’s reaction, Becky was now over the worst of her tears. Her voice took on an eerie calm as she continued with the story.
“By Sunday morning, the entire Duffy clan had arrived, with spouses and offspring in tow. Michael and another doctor took John off life support around noon. Then each brother in turn spent a final moment with John. Sean, the youngest, brought his four-year-old daughter in with him to say good-bye. A few minutes later, with all the family gathered ’round, John took his last breath and was gone. Michael said it was a very peaceful death and that he had never seen a family of a trauma patient better prepared. But it still feels so tragic.”
Anna sighed deeply. Becky continued. “Annie, you know how ‘in charge’ Michael always is? Well, something else happened, and he’s not quite sure how to deal with it. He even said he might want to talk to you about it.”
“What happened?” Anna managed to stammer through her subsiding tears.
“Michael says soon after he pronounced the death, everyone moved into the hallway, leaving him alone in the room with John’s body. Michael stood by the bed—he doesn’t recall for how long. And then he felt a gentle tap on his hand and looked down to see a little girl with curly copper-penny hair reaching up to him.” Becky’s voice tightened as if to suppress renewed tears.
“He picked her up, and she whispered in his ear, ‘Don’t be sad. John says it was time for him to go. He wants me to give you this.’ And she handed Michael this perfect little sunflower—”
“A sunflower?” Anna interrupted.
“Yes, Annie, a sunflower,” replied Becky, with just a hint of impatience. “The child then leaned over the bed rail and kissed John on the forehead. Turning back to Michael, she said, ‘John says to tell you that Annie can help you understand.’
“Michael said he was touched and also perplexed, but in the following moments, what with having to say good-bye to the family, phone me with the news, and then finish his charts, he was too distracted to take it all in. But then—and this is so strange—he stopped the nurse in the hall, and they chatted about how wonderful John’s family is. Michael showed her the flower and said how touched he was by this gift from John’s niece. The nurse didn’t understand, so he tried to explain. But she said, ‘Doctor, you’ve had a long day. Why don’t you go home and take it easy. You know that hospital policy restricts underage visitation. We bent the rules to allow Sean’s daughter in with Father Duffy, but only because he promised to keep it brief. When I left the room with the family, I personally escorted the child outside to a neighbor waiting to take her home.’
“So, Annie, will you talk to him? He’s very unsettled by this and insists he knows what he saw and heard.”
An unusual sense of peace and understanding enveloped Anna. She was standing now by the big sliding doors, staring out at the last light from the day reflecting off the houses across the river. Her eyes were dry and everything very slowly came into focus. It was as if she had always known what she knew now, as if close to fifty years had telescoped into this one moment in time. The merging of logic with faith offered her a clarity of vision and understanding she would carry with her the rest of her life.
“Sure I can, Becky, but not just now. Give me until tomorrow or the next day, okay? And tell Michael not to question his experience. I believe him.”
Becky started weeping again and said, “Oh, Annie. I’ll tell him right now. I know you wouldn’t say that if you didn’t believe it yourself. You are, and always have been, such a good friend to us both. And it’s just the three of us left now, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to say good-bye now, Becky,” Anna said calmly and softly. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”
“I just wished you could have known him, Annie,” Becky said through her tears.
“But I do know him, my friend, I do,” Anna whispered into the phone.
EPILOGUE
_____________________
Anna had spent Tuesday and Wednesday in another world. She cleaned her river house and spent hours poring over her old photo albums. She smiled and frowned, laughed and cried. I’m purging my soul, she thought to herself during those two days. She felt compelled to review and organize her past.
On Wednesday afternoon she found the shoe box tucked under her bed. When she opened the box, she saw the floppy denim hat. And under the hat, Anna found two little maroon beanies with the emblem on the front; one had a “B” embroidered on the inside, the other, “A.” Anna smiled. She and Beth were always getting their Saint David’s beanies mixed up, and it had been Anna’s idea to do the initials. Not that it really mattered. Anna had just wanted an opportunity to show Beth some of the embroidery stitches her grandmother had taug
ht her.
Under the beanies, there were all sorts of things. Beth had left Anna her sorority key, the amethyst crystal rosaries she got from Sister Rosemary when she was the May Queen in sixth grade, pieces from the Monopoly game, including the deed to “Boardwalk” (finally, Anna thought), all her Girl Scout badges sewn with childish stitches on the long green banner, and many photos of the two of them taken with Beth’s Brownie camera.
Anna smiled as she slowly reached for the stack of postcards. Beth had saved the messages Anna had sent her over the years. There were postcards from San Francisco, London, New York, Portland, Tokyo, Sydney, Kauai, and Frankfort. She had kept them all, and wrapped them together with the black armband she had worn at their graduation in 1970. Anna’s eyes misted as she reread the greetings she had sent to Beth over their adult lives. The mist turned to dampness, then to streams of tears when she opened the plain white envelope and slowly began to read:
My dearest Annie,
I hope you are happy, and no longer sad, by the time you find this “treasure chest” I’ve put together for you. The girls and Tom helped me. And I think doing it was good for them. I know it helped me. I’ve left you a lot of things I’ve treasured for years, including the pin I bought in London that week before my surgery. You may remember, there was a Celtic exhibit in Liberty’s, and I was moved by both the beauty and meaning in the art. Wear it, Annie, for the rest of your days, and may it give you the understanding and comfort it offered me.
I’ve tried my hardest (I better not write “damnedest,” I am dying, you know. Not exactly the best time to gamble with profanity!) to get all the pieces in place for you. I’ve prayed for help to do that for quite a while, and John (I know you will have met him by now) has promised to do all he can on his end. So there really shouldn’t be too much left for me to say that I haven’t, or anything you didn’t understand that you don’t now.